Lothlorien

The Requiem for a Dream Trilogy

Lothlórien

Part 2


The next day dawned pure and clear, the Golden woods of Lothlórien lying untouched by the bitter cold of winter of Middle-earth. At some stage during my vigil I had drifted into the land of dreams, and now sat thinking of what I had witnessed in my unsought foray, a sense of unease and what almost seemed to be fear coursing through my veins. What I had seen there disturbed me greatly. I had seen two of my companions, Aragorn and Gimli the dwarf, in the dream and I had also seen myself as if I was viewing the dream through someone else’s eyes.

(…a sword angling down towards us, wielded by an orc. We bring our sword up and block the creatures downwards slash, pushing it back with every ounce of our spent strength we can muster…)

I closed my eyes for a moment and pushed the image away. I had no idea who these visions came from, and why they should depict a battle I knew I and my companions had taken no part in.

‘Legolas?’ It was Aragorn who spoke. He sank down next to me, alsaninaning against the mallorn I reclined against. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’

I glanced at him. Had he some knowledge of what I had witnessed in my dreams? As I looked at him it seemed that he was not all he appeared. For a moment I could have sworn that he was stained with dirt and blood and battle… I blinked and the impression was gone. Or maybe it was that he knew of my altercation with Haldir?

‘I am fine,’ I responded somewhat stiffly.

He gave me a slightly reproving smile. ‘I only ask after your welfare for I know you bear great distress at Gandalf’s passing.’

His words evoked a feeling of shame in me – shame for what had happened the previous night with the Elf warrior and again for my inability to act in the face of terror and defend Mithrandir. ‘I am coping,’ I said softly, looking down at my clasped hands.

He placed his hands over mine in a comforting gesture. ‘I am always here for you, mellon nîn. You do know that.’

‘Yes, I do, Aragorn, and for that I am grateful. Though perhaps,’ I hesitated, ‘I might spend time here in Caras Galadhon amongst my kinfolk for I have never visited the home of the Elves here before… if this is permitted, of course?’

He smiled and inclined his head. ‘Of course! You do not have to ask permission from me, Legolas, to visit with your kinfolk!’ said Aragorn. ‘I do not know how long we will linger here, but until the time we depart you are free to come and go as you will. I have no doubt that it will do you well to be amongst your own people.’

I thought of Haldir and the way he use used my own guilt against me and for a second doubted that I would do well – particularly if they were anything like him. But I did not have to think of him – nay, I need not even need to see him again, for no doubt he would return to the fences of the North and trouble me no more. And as equally as that thought comforted me, part of me also rued his leaving as well. I wanted to give him my sincere apologies for striking him last night. But even more than that, even more base in emotion, I yearned to touch his skin again. I closed my eyes and shuddered. No, he would not welcome that. I knew as much from his cruelty towards me last night.

‘Legolas?’

I opened my eyes and smiled at Aragorn with emotion I didn’t feel. ‘I *am* well, Aragorn, do not worry about me.’ I gestured to the hobbits, who were huddled around a small table loaded with food. ‘See to the hobbits – *they* need your strength. Especially Pippin – I fear he still bears great guilt.’

Aragorn squeezed my shoulder comfortingly. ‘You are wise, my friend,’ he said, before rising. I nodded in acknowledgement as I rose to my feet, keen to roam the ancient home of all Elvendom now that the embargo of the Lady of the Woods was over with the rising of the sun. Stepping out from under the woven roof of the pavilion I looked up at the soaring branches of the mallorn, golden leaves shivering in the early morning light. Many flets were visible from the ground, linked by rope ladders and graceful, gently swaying bridges. It was such a simple act, stepping from under a roof, even one as flimsy as the material of the pavilion, and out beneath the shimmering living canopy of leaves, yet I felt heartened by that merest action. My love for all growing things would always be my saviour even when my heart was at its darkest.

I walked for a long while, the breeze on my face as I stared in wonderment up at the true city of Caras Galadhon. Words could not express the feelings that coursed through my veins – the incredible sens bei being *home* amongst my own. I nimbly climbed up one of the rope ladders to a broad talan. As with all of Elven-kind, I felt equally at home in the trees as on the ground. The Lórien elves I met as I explored from tree to tree all greeted me with equal cordiality, some who knew who I was asked after my father, others welcomed me as one of their northern kinfolk to guest with them during my stay.

The homes in the trees of the Lórien Elves were light, airy and open and very fewght ght any kind of absolute privacy as was commonplace with Men and other the races of Middle-earth. Curiosity was my vice – it always had been – so it was no wonder when I stumbled upon a place I should not be.

It was one of the smaller homes in the trees and I peered around the doorframe, curious as to how the living quarters high in the trees of Caras Galadhon compared to that I had witnessed in Imladris and those in my own home in Northern Mirkwood. The house itself was a single room, barer than any other home I had been invited into that morning. All that the small room contained was a press for clothing, some personal items, a small collection of weapons – a Galadhrim bow, a quiver of arrows, a sword and some daggers – and a bed. I let out a small gasp when I saw the quarters I peeked into surreptitiously were occupied – and more to the point, who they were occupied by.

Haldir lay upon the pallet there, swathed in blankets. He was asleep, his wide blue eyes betraying the glaze of one who roams the world of dreams, and his silvery hair, so immaculate the previous evening, was dishevelled. I blinked and felt colour stain my cheeks as my gaze lingered on the visible, pale golden skin of his chest. Who was I to look at him with even the vestige of lust – he was the most insufferable Elf I knew! So how then could I find him desirable? Suddenly he shuddered, his hand going to his side. Almost instantaneously I felt a sharp pain of my own, clutching at my own side as if I had been struck.

(…the order has gone out to retreat, and as we call to what was left of our company to fall back, our guard falters but for a moment against two adversaries as we fumble to block the sword of one with our own blade. Yet it is all that is needed for the other Urak-hai that is upon us to slip his blade through our guard, the imperfectly crafted metal punching through the armour of our side in an explosion of pain…)

Haldir blinked and awoke with a sharp intake of breath. I stared at him with wide eyes, my hand still rubbing my side as the pain faded as to that of a faintly remembered wound after many a year has passed. He let out a relieved sigh, his eyes closing for a moment before he opened them, focussing on me. His own gaze widened when he recognised me, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. ‘What are you-’ his voice trailed off with a groan. He winced, his hand going to his forehead.

Almost instantly I was at his side, kneeling by the low pallet and picking up the cup that stood on the floor by the bed, pressing it into his hand. Perhaps foolishly I had assumed it to hold water. ‘Your compassion commends you,’ he said dryly before he took the cup from my hand and went to drink. Almost instantly he grimaced. ‘Do you normally recommend the cause for the cure, Prince Legolas?’ he asked mockingly, before shrugging and downing the contents of the cup in a single gulp.

I stared at him. ‘It was not water?’

‘No.’ He fumbled over the side and picked up a depleted wineskin. ‘It was definitely was not water. To the contrary, it was the finest wine made by the best wine-makers of our kind.’

‘Then you need no more!’ I scolded, taking both the cup and the skin from his hands.

He looked at me, affronted. ‘Do you perhaps forget whose abode you are in – where you came in uninvited? I shall drink what I want, when I want regardless of what *you* think!’ When he reached for the cup and skin again I held them out of his reach. ‘Why are you here? Did you not get what you wanted to get from me last night?’ His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. It seemed almost as if he looked through me. ‘No… you did not. You still hold your pain close to you like a child.’

I sat back on my heels. He was still as offensive as ever! It also annoyed me immensely that he could tell with a simple look whether I was still grieving or not. ‘It was by accident that I stumbled upon your home, Haldir of Lórien,’ I said stiffly. ‘I shall leave.’ As much as I wanted answers for that strange instant we had appear to live only moments ago, and for his accusations the previous eve, I could not bear his company a moment more if he was going to taunt me once more. I drew myself up to leave.

‘No, wait’- he reached out and snared my wrist in one slender hand. I could feel the calluses on his fingers from bow and harp-string. He looked up at me, his free hand raking his hair out of his eyes. ‘I am sorry, Legolas. I– I do not mean to antagonise you.’

‘But you do,’ I retorted, trying to jerk my hand from his grasp. His fingers tightened. I stood and glared at his hand and then him for a moment, before he suddenly jerked on my wrist, startling me off balance. I fell forward onto my hands and knees on the bed, my eyes widening with outrage. How dare he lay his hands on me like that! I looked up at him, ready to let him feel the rough side of my tongue when I realise that he was laughing at me. Oh, not visibly, but inside he was I was sure, as evidenced by the slightest curve of his lips and the sparkle in his eyes. His humour incensed me. ‘Do not take me for a fool, Haldir of Lórien!’ I snarled. ‘When I saw this was your home I merely wished to apologise for striking you last night – not to be treated with like I am some innocent child to entertain you!’

Once again my anger bubbled up irrationally in me. There was something about tha that roused my temper like no other – twice in less than half a day I was blindly furiot hit him. I moved to push myself off the bed, but once more found myself restrained by his hand around my wrist. He did not grip me tightly, just firmly enough that I could not break free without hurting myself, and I was too proud to stoop to trying to pry his fingers off with my free hand. I looked pointedly at his hand around my wrist. He squeezed my wrist tightly for a moment, hard enough that I felt a brief arrow of pain shoot up my arm.

‘I do not take you for a fool, not do I treat you as a child, Prince Legolas,’ he said coldly, his flash of good humour fleeing. ‘There was no need for you to come in here and apologise. Truth be told,’ he eyes narrowed and a mask of indifference settled over his handsome features, ‘I had completely forgotten about last night.’ He gave a dismissive one-shouldered shrug.

It was such a blatant lie that I stared at him in disbelief. ‘You expect me to believe that?’ I said incredulously.

He dropped my wrist. ‘You may believe what you want – I do not tell you what to or what not to believe in… but as far as I am concerned, last night never happened.’

‘Last night never happened?’ I echoed, rubbing where his grip has bruised my flesh. ‘You wish to pretend that I did not strike you, that – that you did not accuse me of acting like a *whore*?’ There was a brief glimmer in his eyes when I mentioned that, but he did not speak. ‘You wish to pretend that we did not kiss-‘

‘You kissed me,’ he interrupted.

I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. ‘I thought you said last night never happened for you? If that was the case, then how do you remember that?’

It was his turn to glare at me. It was not a big victory, but a victory nonetheless, and it seemed that small victories were all I could win against him. ‘You kissed me,’ was all he couly iny in a sullen reply.

‘At first, maybe, yes,’ I conceded, ‘but after that you were as involved as I.’

His gaze grew calculated. ‘Only because I thought that if I gave you what you wanted you would leave me alone.’

I hissed as that verbal spar landed, and a flicker of what could only be satisfaction lit up his eyes for a brief moment. It struck me then that he really *was* a cruel Elf! What he said and what he did appeared to be purely motivated by the need to wound me. And every time he did that it roused my temper – normally on such a long fuse – and I in turn responded to him, thus making me no better that he. And going on in this way it appeared we would not stop until we had cut each other into shreds with venomous words.

‘Why do you do this?’ I asked, frustrated. ‘Do you derive some sort of perverse pleasure from angering me?’

His eyes opened wide at my words, and I could not be certain whether the innocence he projected was feigned or not. ‘Prince Legolas,’ he protested, ‘how can you say such a thing? If I anger you it is not my intention, I promise you that, and surely you cannot truly believe I would do it *deliberately* and obtain pleasure from it?’ He sounded so dismayed it would be easy to believe him. But I remembered the gleam in his eye and reserved my judgement. He was not like the earth, this Elf, steady and reliable, no – he was more like water… beautiful, cool and treacherous. I would do well to remember that.

‘I do not know what game you play with me and whether you truly mean to anger me or not, but it is what you do,’ I said softly. ‘I apologise for striking you last night and invading your home this morning. I shall go now.’ With that I pushed myself to my feet, nodded once to him and turned for the door. I was about to step out onto one of the delicate walkways leading from his talan when I heard him speak.

‘Legolas, wait, please.’

I stopped, my back to the talan.

(…we feel a surge of pride in our chest as we look upon the ranks of our kinfolk arrayed before us, so strong and defiant…)

I squeezed my eyes closed for a moment, before shaking the image away. I did not know where these images came from, and longed desperately to talk them over with the fallen Mithrandir. He was the one person whuld uld have been able to explain to me where they were coming from.

‘Legolas?’ He spoke so softly, a shiver rippled up my spine like he had actually touched me. There was a fleeting edge of pain to his voice like had present the previous night when he had revealed his weakness to me. ‘You do not have to leave.’

I turned hesitantly. He sat up in the bed, picking aimlessly at the cover over his legs. A tangle of hair shadowed his face as he looked away from me, his gaze sliding from mine to stare vacantly at the wall. Again I found myself drinking in his beauty. He was not perfect, oh no, with scars marring his frame evidence of his lifelong task of guarding the borders of Lórien from intruders. But he was still beautiful, and to me it was these scars that added to his attractiveness, flawing him physically in the only way his duty could.

I swallowed. He radiated that peculiar vulnerability again and it tugged at my heart. ‘Why should I stay?’ I asked gently. ‘There is nothing for me here.’

‘I do not want to hurt you,’ he whispered, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering, ‘Valar forbid that I should ever do that intentionally. I just…’ he hesitated. ‘I fear you…’

‘You… fear me?’ Almost instantly I was at his side, sinking onto the bed. I did not reach out to touch him but instead leant forward on my hands, staring into his distant face. It was almost as if his mind was elsewhere, leaving me these tantalising whispers of his soul to converse with.

‘Aye.’ His eyes slipped closed and he swayed.

I placed my hands on his shoulders, holding him upright. ‘Why do you fear me, Haldir of Lórien? What have I done to warrant this?’

His bare skin was warm and smooth under my hands – just as I remembered. As soon as I touched him I felt a sharp lance of lust spear through my gut. I gasped, and at that same moment his eyes shot open, his hands flying up to grasp my wrists, dragging my hands away from him. ‘I fear you for what you make me feel for you! You make me lust for you, and this need makes me *weak*. It is a terrible thing!’ he cried, releasing my wrists and dropping his face into his hands.

I coaxed his hands away from his face, alarmed by both the desperate terror behind his revelation and the fact that as soon as I touched him again I once more felt that stab of burning need. ‘Desire is not such a terrible thing, Haldir,’ I said softly. Was this why he was trying to hurt me? To drive me away from him and in doing so, somehow mitigate his lust? ‘Is this what you meant when you said that… that it was *me*, last night?’

He blinked at me, his face anguished. ‘Yes – no… I – I don’t know… I don’t know…’ A single tear coursed down his cheek from his glossy eyes. ‘When you stuck me last night – it was just like in my dream… but I did not know who it was who made me fear like this…’ his voice trailed off, and once more his gaze skipped away from mine.

I swiped the tear away with my thumb. Again… lust. Yet… it was not my own. I e I experiencing what he felt? If so, how could this be? How could I feel his emotions when I merely touched his skin? And why didn’t I feel it when he touched me? The questions churned around in my head.

‘Why do you fear desiring me?’ I finally voiced. Of all things, that was what puzzled me the most. To me there was nothing more natural and delightful than indulging in physical pleasure with someone you desired – it was not something to be feared… it was something to be revered!

He finally met and held my gaze. ‘Lust distracts me from my duties. In this time of turmoil, there is nothing worse. I cannot afford to be distracted from my duty – Lórien will suffer the consequences of my folly!’ he said earnestly, yet not avoiding my touch. I cupped his cheek in my hand, noting how the intensity of emotion I felt seemed to temper somewhat with constant contact. He leant into my touch, his own hand reaching out hesitantly, almost as if he did not knhat hat he was doing, to slide over my woollen-clad knee.

I moistened my lips, my heart pounding in my throat as I leant further forward. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my mouth, the heat of his hand on my leg as his fingers flexed, kneading the flesh lightly. Then our lips met.

If I had thought the kiss we had shared the previous night had been surprising, it was nothing compared to the way this time – so loaded with tension borne of the brief moments of anger we had shared – felt. Longing hit me like a physical blow to the chest and I moaned softly. I felt his fingers grasping at my tunic, tugging me closer.

‘What, pray tell, is going on, Haldir?’ A sharp, familiar voice said from in the direction of the doorway.


tbc